


MILK

by comrades



Category: BLACKPINK (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, Asia, Dystopian, F/F, Korean War, Psychological Trauma, Thailand, Thriller, coup, kpop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22425016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comrades/pseuds/comrades
Summary: Aspiring human rights lawyer and dancer Lalisa is awarded a chance of a lifetime, which suddenly lands her as the face of hope for Thailand, Korea, and the rest of Asia during the 2014 coup. Abruptly pulled out of poverty to having her dreams of being involved in politics dangled in her face is a bit of adjustment as she struggles to stay afloat, a step ahead, and her dignity in tact. However, she begins to put everything into question and everything on the line as inconsistencies are brought to light. Who is this dazzling woman who wants her to follow in her footsteps, and what is her true agenda? Why are trainees disappearing, one by one? What is the real reason behind her being taken to South Korea? And most concerning of all, does the government have any intentions of keeping their promises?
Relationships: Jennie Kim/Kim Jisoo, Kim Jisoo/Lalisa Manoban | Lisa, Lalisa Manoban | Lisa/Park Chaeyoung | Rosé
Kudos: 3





	1. Good Ass Prologue

Let me start this off first and foremost by saying that I don't believe in god, ghost, spirits, whatever else. That's 'cos I'm an intellectual of course. I don't believe in anything that doesn't show their face. And as far as I am concerned, neither should you.

Take the Yellow Shirts for example. Can you see their face? No, 'cos their faces are covered by Gucci sunglasses. Even if they ever were removed, you'd probably see deceit and the thirst to exploit in their eyes. Or something like that. Definitely mirroring the Yellow Shirts of America, that's for sure. What else to keep a progressive party divided than to stroke privileged white anger, and direct it in the wrong direction? Before I get side-tracked, I don't believe in an ideology that underestimates the man kicked down, or the fact they don't know if they want capitalism or a dictatorship. Flip flop ass hoes.

Back to the topic of God. I don't believe in him. I can't bring myself to. Doesn't seem like a cool dude, if I'm being honest. What kind of guy just twirls the world and just watch everybody go buck wild on it? That's like, entertainment. Sadistic entertainment.

However, when the little girl kicked a ball at me a couple blocks down from the IDC, I hesitated. She was covered from head to toe in some type of garment. It was a niqab but I didn't know that. I was only about five, I wasn't an intellectual then. _Yet._

I can't put it into words, something about her vibe was off. Something about her _very_ spirit drew me in, starkly contrasting my wariness. And har har— don't bother pointing out my bout of spirituality. It's different from religion. Nonetheless, I kicked the ball back because my mom taught me well, even though I didn't get to see her a lot.

The girl was surprised. Pretty sad if I do say myself, but who am I to talk when I had zero friends. She even began to approach me, even abandoning the ball. When she was close enough, she asked barely above a whisper if I believed in God. I merely shrugged. Then I could see her eyes smile. To be honest, I'm a proud atheist, but it was a little early in our acquaintance to discuss politics and religion.

"I am Asiah. Lisa, you are destined for greatness."

From there we played some more, then she somehow snuck me into the IDC. We sat in the crowded room in the detention center, and I looked at the foreign faces from the west of Asia.

"They abandoned us here. The west, our own governments, and the U.N," she explained. "I only came back to see my ummah struggling. The place that holds Mecca sold us out for dollars. Imagine that!"

I followed along and nodded like I understood. I didn't, but from the sound of it, it was pretty fucked. I think the word she was looking for was exploitation though, I heard my father say that a lot when he ranted about the yellow shirts. He joined the red shirts sometime before this prologue and I hadn't seen much of him after that, just like my mother.

"We need someone who will fight for people like us. People like you," she picked up a stack of big books from the corner of the room. The Communist Manifesto, Huey Newton autobiography, some law books. "I'm going to educate you. Because the only way to fight people with guns is with words and laws they don't even follow." I only stared at her. "My book collection isn't that big now, but that'll change in the future, you think, right?"

I nodded again in response. Little did I know, she was right.

Over those few years, I did end up believing most of the things Asiah told me. For instance, she swore up and down she was the youngest wife of her prophet Muhammad, and she was sent down from heaven to punish Saudi Arabia for their crimes. This may sound absurd, and I'm with you on that, but she did seem like an angel to me. She was smart, definitely wiser than her six year old appearance, and knew things about me and others that was impossibly to explain other than she was part of the divine.

"Your new nickname is going to be Lisa," Asiah whispered to me as we walked home from one of the many days we studied together. "And your cousin- Rosé is going to visit. But she's not really your cousin. She's just the daughter of your mother's friend. She's gracious, nice, and rich."

That day I did meet my fake-cousin. I was glad she wasn't really my cousin by the way she acted. She sure was gracious, nice, and rich, but she was very rude on accident, and occasionally blurt out about her crush on me and the way our shack was built despite my mom's two-day furious attempt to fix it up and make it seem more homely and decent. I honestly don't think she could help it though.

You're probably wondering why Rosé mother never attempted to raise our standard of living, despite claiming to be so close to my mother that they were sisters and we cousins. And being a rich person with the means and all. That would be because Rosé mother was a bourgeois stereotype. She believed that my mother simply didn't work hard enough, as if her living away from her family 10 months out the year to work back breaking jobs at the Bangkok hospitals just to pay for me to eat was not working hard enough. As if she hadn't built this house with her bare hands when she figured out she was pregnant. But she beloved my mother all the same, comparable to a sister who treats her younger with tough love. Pull-them-up-by-their-boot-straps type tough love.

All I got to say is, physically attempt that. Pulling yourself up by your bootstraps, I mean. It's fucking impossible isn't it?

"I've been on this earth again for another six years," Asiah once said to me, about six years later. We were eating rice on the cold IDC floor, that someone who magically decided to handed over by just looking at Asiah for a second. "But it's never too late to change your position right? I'm thinking of a more militant approach, like Huey. Down left, perhaps."

"Perhaps," I responded. Never did I think that about nearly half a decade later, I would be thinking those same words to myself, about two years after Asiah's disappearance. I still think to this day it had to do something to do with the fact Asiah was an illegal immigrant, overstaying her visa years over. There has been many cases of refugee torture by the state, but despite my grim choice of thinking, I didn't like to think about this fact. Carrying out my studies on my own, so I could one day find her and free her, I was determined to be independent and never do anything for the government.

 _It's never too late to change your position right?_ I wondered, deciding to take the state university test that was handed out throughout the country, even the rural areas where kids like us didn't attend school. They were offering $50 just to take it, and despite the fact I was wary. I was hesitant because this was only about a couple months after the 2014 coup, throwing over whatever the fuck they was calling our government to a military junta. In the end, I decided it couldn't hurt me and tried my best I on it.

This was proven false a couple months after that, marking the 6 month anniversary of the junta rule. Chance the Rapper's new album, _Acid Ra_ p, came out, and my nice totally-not-my-blood-cousin, had gifted me it on a brand new iPhone on her visit. We were dancing to it, the thought about the tests we took in the back of our minds. The hard knock on the door however, snapped us back to reality.

We stumbled out my room towards the front door, wondering who the hell was aggressively knocking on it like that. My mother opened it to reveal two big men, clad in black military uniforms, incredibly armed. They, of course, were looking for us two, Rosé and Lisa.

We had no choice but to be whisked away in a limo, and our mothers had no choice but to let us. They loved us, but they wanted no smoke. I did not blame them.

The driver recklessly drove us to our designation, and we were thrown out about two hours later at the Bangkok national high school.

Inside, we were sat down by a nice enough looking woman. She placed us at desks diagonal from each other, then a test.

It was entirely based off political opinion, philosophy, economics. Rosé and I exchanged glances at the same time. Red flags were raised.

Nevertheless, we breezed though it, and we waited as the woman looked through it. By this time, the room was full of the normal curious students, and more officials. Camera men even came. Finally, the woman had stamped them yes.

The room erupted in cheers, completely confusing us. One of the officials explained we had won a internship with the U.N branch for Asia, and a deal with YG of Korea. They hadn't told us of these chances beforehand because they never thought that two peasants would be smart enough to pass it. Besides the fact that was actually very hurtful, my mind couldn't help but wander to what the fuck a YG was. Some type of sauce?

Naturally, the BigBang stan in Rosé lead her to cheer with them. This opportunity sounded great, but I naturally knew it to be fishy. But I put on a happy front, cheering with them adorably. Hoping that this money they were promising would go straight to my village.

Unbeknownst to us, at the same time these cameras were on us, others were on the protest on the other side of town. My father, a prominent Red Shirt activist, had been shot.


	2. Antes Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Besides movies, girl groups had to be the OG form of introducing propaganda I feel like."

As the small crowd disperses, I leaned in towards Rosé.

"What do you think all this is about?" I asked, as the soldiers lead us into the limo, taking us to god knows where.

"Look," Rosé waved her phone in my face, arching an eyebrow. On her device, there's an article explaining a contest. I skimmed through it while she spoke.

"The tests were required to be equally spread out in the case that there was a wider chance to find the most likely candidate for this project. Since we were in the rural part, they must've assumed that we were never going to win, so didn't even bother to tell us the entire gist. The winners get a four-year contract with a Korean music company and to be involved in some sort of UN development."

I exhaled heavily. So that was what the fuck a YG was. But no, the chances of supposedly peasant girls winning a nationwide distributed political test was dubious, so it was plausible a peacekeeper did underestimate our abilities.

"Why do you think they offered an artist contract though? To appeal to the masses more?" I proposed, handing her phone back.

"That, and to improve Korean-Thailand diplomatic relations," Rosé theorized, now speaking faster. "Think about it-- fragile Thailand offers its best up and SK offers to make use of them after such a crisis as the coup d'état. It looks good on part of the company moreover, as they are basically doing charity." Rosé opened her mouth to say more, but the car jerked, swinging her into the other seat.

 _Who the hell was driving this car?_ They were all over the place, and basically speeding. Where did we have to go so bad?

I knocked on the partition, and the guy in the passenger seat turned, and rolled it down.

"What?" He asked rudely, taking me aback. Was this winner's treatment? Wow, I'd like a refund.

"Where are we going?" Rosé whined.

"Press conference. Just follow the flow and you'll be fine, you passed the rest for a reason," he added after our looks of shock. He rolled the partition back up.

"What an ass," Rosé said sourly.

"What a half assed contest," I replied. "Why would they host a press conference right after the test? No training or nothing."

Rosé nodded in agreement, then looked in the cup holders and around. Probably for snacks. It had been half the day since we had last eaten.

I offered a chocolate that was in a bag right next to me, and Rosé groaned in protest, but took it nonetheless. "There goes my 22-inch waist!" She complained.

"I don't think that's how weigh gain works," I said with a roll of my eyes, casting a look out the window. It was pointless, considering that all the windows were tinted black. Whoever in the junta must've not wanted us to be seen. But why? No doubt it'd be fucked though.

Yelling and cheering was getting more and more audible, surrounding us even. We must've been close to where ever this press conference was.

I was correct, the limo pulled into a stop. We were escorted out and immediately to a podium on a large platform. There waiting for was a tall, skinny, and stunning woman. She had black eyes, black hair, and a cunning smile. She oozed authority and poise, her dress suit and red bottoms probably racking up to triple my entire shack of a home and inheritance.

"...It's a wonderful chance to improve relations within the East. I'm so glad to be at the forefront of a new democratic revolution, with this fledgling generation." She bowed, and the crowd roared. The speaker leads her away from the mic, and I didn't miss the look the woman gave him.

"Thank you! That was Miss Kim Jisoo, South Korean UN ambassador and YG trainee, and most importantly, the vice director of this project. She's so well versed, isn't she? Even in her third language."

"Fourth actually," Jisoo corrected, loudly into the mic. "Japanese was my third."

The speaker chuckled it off, slickly rolling his eyes. "Anyways, I welcome to the stage, Lalisa Manoban and Park Chaeyoung." The crowd busted into applause, and Jisoo politely tapped her hands.

We had no choice but move forward to the podium, and Rosé and I exchanged looks. Of course, I took initiative, adjusting the mic with one hand. I cleared my face, shook any nervous signs from my body language, and plastered a goofy smile on my features.

"How are you feeling, with such a great opportunity? It must be fitting that YG is part of this deal, considering that you Lalisa dance, and Park sings!" The speaker said.

How in the hell did they figure that out? Good g-d. Plus the focus on the fact some uppity over-glorified shit-for-brains recording company was involved instead of the fact that the _fucking U.N in the midst of a humanitarian crisis_ was disturbing on its own.

"We are so gratified for this opportunity!" I said in a preppy voice. "Being from the deprived part of Bangkok was especially difficult, but it never hindered my love for politics. Our love for politics," I paused, choosing my next approach carefully.

I wasn't dumb, I knew I had to tread lightly. No way was _any_ government like mine was going to be okay with me raising my fist and demanding the means of production or something-- I had to be the cheerful mouthpiece, reassuring that everything was going to be fine.

"We were given this wonderful chance to bring both the necessary change this nation desperately needs. Even for the people on the bottom. We will never forget these struggles!" I bowed, and I was met with a round of applause.

Suddenly I felt nails digging into my arm. Kim Jisoo leaned towards my ear, keeping the bright cheery smile on her face.

"You're lucky you wrapped that up. I already had your mic turned off." She released my arm, waving to the crowd.

***

We were now in a smaller black luxury car, and had been driving for a while. We all had been sitting in an awkward silence, but I doubted Jisoo noticed, as she was absorbed into her phone.

" _Excuse me_?" Rosé pipped up in English. No response. It took two more attempts for Jisoo to even lift her head.

"Ugh, what?" Jisoo snapped.

"Where are we going?" I stepped in, using Korean for Rosé benefit.

"To Burger King," She rolled her eyes back down to her phone. "I figure you two would appreciate something to eat."

"True," Rosé admitted after a pause. She probably considered how badly she needed a whopper with cheese.

"Why did we have a press conference?" I questioned.

"To thank the general public," Jisoo said, still not looking up from her damn phone. "Rule one of being a lawyer, be specific or don't be. Whichever works in your favor."

Rosé squinted and I elevated an eyebrow.

"The reasons why it was planned to be so sudden was that it was your first examination," She finally looked up and gave us a dazzling smile. "Under my guidance, you will have many examinations." The car halted. "What would you like?"

We ordered our food and was quietly eating while Jisoo explained what this project was (mouth full of burger).

"As you know, the UN has been fucking up a lot lately, probably since the formation," she began bluntly. "I got permission to conduct a new council of people, specifically young people. Thank god for the political influence of dead parents, amiright? They, meaning the U.N had no choice because they needed a chance to save face, and it fit every one of those fat bastard's greedy individual goals, either for their country, or just themselves."

The curse words coming out of Jisoo's mouth was amusing to say the least. Her beautiful face combined with her child-like demeanor was a complete contradiction to the way she now talked. While she carried herself like a graceful politician earlier, that was gone, replaced by something more realistically a 21-year-old would explain how she swindled an intergovernmental organization into doing what she says.

"We deprive out of the Security Council. As you know, that's the only principal organ of the UN that has the power to make binding decisions, the others just make lame ass recommendations," She said with a crackle, Rosé and I just quirking a smile. "However, we are also a corporation. All sort of people can invest, but at the end of the day we run us. No one else."

"But what's our jobs?" Rosé inquired. "Where does YG come in?"

"Ah!" Jisoo shook her finger. "Good question! YG is our main investor, and us debuting in a girl group would sky rocket our approval in the eyes of the general public."

"Girl group?" Rosé and I chorused. Besides movies, girl groups had to be the OG form of introducing propaganda, I feel like.

"Like, raise awareness, you know?" Jisoo moved onto her fries, eating heartily. "Our job is to do what the UN fails to do, essentially. You'll have a couple cases to do first."

"You think we're able to do cases so soon?" I questioned.

"Yes," Jisoo said with no hesitation, "Guidance from me, of course."

I leaned back, eating my chicken nugget in silence. It was evident to me now. But hopefully I was wrong. The thought of being some rich prodigy's pet project made my stomach turn.

"By the way Lisa, your father is on life support," Jisoo added nonchalantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ty for reading, hope you enjoyed :) lemme kno if u did, or even if u didnt :O see u next sunday


	3. The Baddest Female Wears Prada

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lisa and Chaeyoung learn the art of personality branding... via clothing.

**"** Pardon?" I blinked, immediately sitting up straight.

"Oh, sit down and sit back," Jisoo said in a very dismissive tone. "It's nothing too severe."

"You just said my father was on _life support,_ fuck you mean 'sit down'?" I barked back. "How could that even happen-" My words died in my throat. The protest today.

My father was a big activist in Bangkok, a prominent leader in The Red Shirt Movement. Today was a huge protest, marking the six month anniversary of the coup. Yeah, meaning the recent one, don't be a smartass. Naturally, this fact completely escaped my mind, being that I was basically kidnapped out of my own home.

Jisoo crumbled up her wrapper and threw it into the discarded Burger King bag. She seemed unfazed by this entire situation, and didn't seem nowhere remorseful, even after dropping such a bomb on me.

"Soldiers were sent down to the protest by the river, and one shot out into the crowd. He was barely grazed in the side, and did pass out for a while. We have him in a partner hospital with an IV. The IV leaves him in a comatose state to make it seem like his condition is worse off than it is."

"Why?" Rosé questioned in her melodic voice. "Lisa's mom wouldn't allow you to do this-"

"She did," Jisoo interrupted. "We have her on board of directors of Bangkok Hospital. She's well taken care of. _Anyways_ ," she continued on as if she was discussing the weather. "This news would show the public that Thailand does need help, and will make my takeover go over more smoothly. The junta _does_ filter out a lot of their dirty deeds, but they won't able to with my independent journalists there." She smirked, looking proud of herself and her idea.

I shook my head, attempting to clear my thoughts. The more I talked to Jisoo, the more confused I became about her overall agenda. Simply put, was she for good, or was she for evil?  
Call it black and white, but that's how most people are.

"When can I see my family?" I asked firmly, maintaining eye contact.

"Soon," Jisoo replied coolly. "As I said, they're well taken care of. You have other pressing matters to attend to."

"Then where are we going?" Rosé said, whining for the umpteenth time that day. "If not going home?"

"Let's set your schedule clear." Jisoo held up her hand with an eye roll. "Tonight we go to a hotel. After that, we meet with YG who's flying out to meet you two. Next, we go to hair and makeup for a photoshoot. Finally, we fly out to Korea. That's all to be done _tomorrow_. Tell me where you'd think you'll have time to whine about seeing your parents like little children?"

Rosé pouted, slouching in her seat. I would've objected, but at the mention of the hotel, I finally noticed just how tired I really was. I had just went through an emotional rollercoaster, and now had a plethora of information crammed into my head. The idea of Jisoo taking us to a nice, quiet, comfortable setting, despite the impending arrival of a millions events the next day looming over me, was enough to knock me out right then and there. And it did.

Later on, I had stumbled out of the limo with Rosé, and we checked in.

"Jesus Christ." Rosé said, even giving a short whistle in awe. "You call this a hotel?"

Judging by Rosé's reaction, I knew it to be glamorous even by her bourgeoise standards.

It was basically a penthouse. There was stairs, a pool, and several rooms. Begrudgingly, I had to admit, I was feeling regretful that I wouldn't be able to stay longer.

"Nice isn't it?" Jisoo smiled warmly. "Just wait until you see our dorms in South Korea."

She lead us up the stairs and told us to pick a room, then went on her own way. Even though there was many to choose from, Rosé quickly followed me into the random room I just walked into. She even insisted sleeping next to me. Probably a habit.

"There's pajamas," Rosé noted, pointing behind me at the closet as I untucked the comforter.

"Too tired," I responded promptly, quickly yawning. It was as if my body was proving a point.

"Touché," Rosé said then shrugged, climbing in with me. She turned off the lamp, and settled in. A few minutes later, I heard her breathing slow down, she was asleep.

I, however, could not relate. It felt like I was up forever, the wheels in my head turning over and over again. A million questions were running through my head at once like; Why did my mother sell our father out for some shares? When would I see my family again? When would we debut, musically and politically? What was Jisoo's game plan? What was YG like? Who'd be there?

Eventually, I did fall asleep. My visions of rolling a ball with Asiah playing in my dreams.

* * *

The next morning, Jisoo woke us up by loudly banging on the door. She swung the door open, revealing herself in a casual outfit of a T-shirt and shorts. She was happily smacking on a piece of bacon (somehow managing to do it super adorably unfortunately, might I add) with a sheet mask on her face. I was really envious of her being on her shit at the ass crack of dawn.

"Time to greet the world!" Jisoo said, but it felt more like a yell. Rosé groaned loudly.

Jisoo aided us in picking out outfits, considering as we were super out of it. She insisted on telling us brand names to chose from, and naturally, only Rosé could follow along.

"These are the recent Vetements and Levi collab shorts," Jisoo modeled, twirling. "They're like, over a thousand USD."

Rosé oohed and awed. "My mother hasn't brought me those yet. I've had those on my mind for the past week!"

I scoffed, being the sensible commoner I am. No offense, but they looked like the typical cut off coochie-cutters you'd see anywhere else. Sorry to sound like a typical peasant, but the thought to blow 2-3 utility bills worth of cash on something as mundane as a piece of booty shorts was ridiculous to me.

Eventually we were finally dressed and somewhat presentable, and Jisoo offered us a typical western breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast. After we ate, we quickly were escorted by two men to the car.

It was a silent hour long ride. Jisoo was glued to her phone and Rosé slept through most of it. I just looked out the window. I was living my early sombre 2000's video life, I admit.

From there on, we arrived to a studio of sorts. We were then rushed into the building and in a room that was built like a salon, conjoined to a big dressing room.

"You're next assignment is to memorize every brand you'll be dressed in today," Jisoo announced laissez-faire. "A way to know a person's personality is to analyze the way they dress. Pick and model three outfits for me." With that, she left us in the dressing room, leaving us alone.

Rosé seemed unbothered, feeling the different fabrics under her fingertips. Picking out clothes was something like a walk in the park for her.

I of course, wore nothing but hand me downs, and pretty much whatever was given to me. I assumed that we were going to have a time limit, so I tried the best I could.

* * *

"What are you wearing?" Jisoo questioned in a bored tone, waving away makeup stylists to lean forward. I didn't blame her, it was like our fifth attempt. Who knew this would be hard when we have a literal crackhead judging us!

"This is a House of Holland dress," Rosé twirled proudly. "And these are Rachel Cox boots."

"Why'd you pick it?" Jisoo asked, perking her eyebrows up. She probably was sparing Rosé the hurt of telling her that she was looking very horse girl-ish. But hey, who I'm kiddin', that was exactly what Rosé was.

"Because it was cute, and I'm cute," Rosé answered simply.

Jisoo nodded. "It is very cute." Don't make me laugh! "But go change." Scratch that, don't make me murder you.

"Excuse-"

Jisoo waved her off, then beckoned me forward. "Lisa, what on God's green earth are you wearing?"

"I don't know to be honest," I looked down. "But it looked cool, I guess." I was positively giving life!

Jisoo squinted. "Is that a 300 dollar UNIF bra over a turtleneck?"

"Uh, I think."

Jisoo glanced down at the big purple boots that I had pulled all the way down, flabbergasted. "Why are you wearing this?"

"To have a unique appeal," I wiggled my eyebrows.

The older girl blinked. "Go change."

I pouted, stomping into the other room.

"Back to the drawing board," I almost sung at Rosé's sour look.

"I can't believe James Earl Jones said my outfits was ugly."

"She did say it was cute," I offered.

Rosé scowled, picking up different items and inspecting them.

"Perhaps it's not the outfits she has a problem with," I proposed suddenly, a light bulb popping over my head. "Maybe it's the answers."

Rosé stared, then became excited. "Lisa, you're a genius!"

"I have an IQ of 160, so I know," I said, nearly puffing my chest out. Ah, so humble I know. "Just think of it, you have to dress how you want to be treated. Visuals have impact before anything else!"

Rosé rolled her eyes, quickly changing.

* * *

Rosé sha-swayed into the room, posing with confidence.

"Nice!" Jisoo clasped her hands. "So, what are you wearing?"

"This is a Husain Zhang dress," Rose replied. "And these are Alexander Wang heels."

"Why did you pick that out?"

"To give a glamorous tease, so people will view me as someone they can admire and aspire to be like," Rosé said with a smirk, sure she cracked Jisoo's code.

Jisoo simply grinned. "Go get ready for hair and makeup."

"Yes!" Rosé said, squealing.

Jisoo then looked expectantly at me.

"I am wearing a topshop dress, that retails for $45 retail, and these cheap ass sandals." I waved my leg. "This outfit will give me a humble and grounded appearance, making people think I'm down to earth and trustworthy."

Jisoo nodded, obviously satisfied. "You two caught on sooner than expected."

I brisked in a goofy manner. "We're just clever like that, you know."

Jisoo rolled her eyes. "Be ready to walk."

When Jisoo said that, I assumed it'd be well, a walk in the park. Pun intended. After getting my face poked and prodded at, and weird substances slathered on it, I figured that'd be the end of it all. But no, Jisoo lead us to a big white stage, and had us walk up and down it.

"YG is going to have you both walk for him, and you're going to get fitted when we land in Korea," Jisoo explained, "Before and after we debut we're going to model for brands. This in mind, Lisa, you shouldn't be walking up and down, stomping like a fucking two year old. Rosé, where are you staring at? You look cross eyed. Lower your shoulders too. Again!"

Rosé and I naturally were startled by her annoyed tone, but of course we followed her directions. She made us walk up and down that stage countless times, critiquing us the entire time.

" _Aish_!" Jisoo pouted haughtily on one of the many trips we made down that cursed white lane. "Let you arms flow freely Lisa! Rosé, look more smug and like you actually know what you're doing!" Then, her cell phone rang. She flipped it open, somehow managing to greet cheerfully despite her current disposition. However, some words were said on the other end, making her mood sour considerably.

"Why do we have to pick them up for?" She all but whined. "Why can't he come?" Some more words were said, and Jisoo snapped the phone closed, I guess not bothering to put up her approachable charade.

"Girls," She began, "this practice is now closed. We have to rush the photoshoot, and not only did YG's dusty ass cancel on us, we have to pick up blasted IKON in _our_ jet! The nerve of that old man!" She huffed, flipping her hair.

She dragged us to another room, white, with a paper sheet covering some of the wall. The lights were aggravatingly bright, and the cameras the men had were daunting. Jisoo coached us through each picture, with the photographer in front yelling encouragements. To be honest, I'd have to say I liked the attention and I did feel fancy of sorts, but it felt pretty redundant, having to take so many pictures and all. Literally anybody could do it. But it felt nice that it was me in that moment, especially when I stared at my pictures, never feeling that pretty before in my life.

When that was finished, we changed into our clothes from before, and we were once again, in a car. Jisoo was bitching and moaning the entire way to the airport, which was where our jet was waiting. Good god, where was Osama when you needed him.

We sat down, and Jisoo was still in her foul mood of course.

"Its going to be a long trip girls," She called from her seat. "We're going to Japan!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!! Leave a comment and I'll see you next time~


	4. Death Row Records, Death Row Basements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lisa has an important conversation with a couple YG artists.

Somewhere from Thailand to Japan I fell asleep, boredom stirring deep in my bones. When I woke up however, I found a pair of brown eyes staring back at me.

Instantly I jerked back, nearly rocking my shit since Rosé was right next to me. That woke her up, and she clumsily clutched her bag, staring at the newcomer. The rich and middle class I tell ya.

"Who are you?" I asked, looking over his shoulder for Jisoo.

"Bobby from iKON." He had a scratchy and rough voice, one that reminded me of a Mexican rock singer of sorts. I wasn't sure if I really enjoyed his company yet. I mean, I just met him after all.

He dangled my notebook in my face to capture my attention. I was sure, and the answer was _fuck no_ I didn't enjoy his company. I snatched it back with a huff, causing him to laugh. Yeah, I was very sure now. I didn't like him.

"It's been super boring since you two were asleep and Jisoo separated the group," he pouted, which looked strange on a grown man's face, but probably made girls like Rosé swoon. "What are these notes about?"

"Nothing really," I clutch it close to my chest. Jisoo lent it to me and I didn't want to disappoint her by loosing it in the 73 hours we had known each other. The fiasco from yesterday (if it was already morning) proved me already to be more or so incompetent.

"It's just random notes on music culture. I want to broaden my horizons. Have a really good musicality so to speak, so I can have the individualistic," I waved my hands around as I spoke, as if I could catch the correct words to string along the sentence I wished for, "Style that YG artists seem to have over, like for example, SM."

Bobby laughed again, and it was somewhere in between an old record scratching and the throaty chuckling of an alcoholic grandfather. I frowned at him. I didn't like people laughing at me, or mocking my statements.

"Lisa," he practically sung after he regained his composure. "Hate to break it to you, but you're YG's prized possession now. 2NE1 is going to be gone sooner or later, and YG's been working us to the bone so he can have to funds to debut his new fresh group."

"I don't see what you're attempting to hint at," Rosé spoke bluntly. I applauded her in my head.

"YG only sees his artists as vessels. For you girls, he only sees pretty faces he can mold into a 2NE1 2.0. If anything, he wants to make you marketable. Hanbin or Teddy are probably going to handle your songs."

"Does Teddy _handle_ your songs?" Rosé rose (ha!) her eyebrows.

"Nope," Bobby replied nonchalantly. "We, as in we iKON, write and produce our own songs. This isn't exactly a good thing though."

I gave him a _are-you-kidding-m_ e look, and a small chortle. To be honest, it probably was a weird sight to behold.

"How is it not?" I voiced my disbelief.

He smirked, lopsided. "He doesn't care about us. Leave the hard work to us CEO-nim. Have us dance and sing for 10 months at a time, CEO-nim. Let the Korean public forget about us CEO-nim. We don't need to see our families at all according to guy."

Not much surprised me, but that did. No, not the ' _our CEO doesn't care about us as individuals_ ' thing that's pretty expected of a capitalist. Especially so as a rumored to be greedy money grubber. Honestly, what did he even expect? What was perplexing to me was how I didn't notice by Jisoo's behavior towards iKON and the fact Bobby's wardrobe closely resembled the crack head character Dave Chappelle played on his self titled comedy show. ' _Hobo tease'_ , as Rosé would probably say. The other surprising thing that was borderline humorous was that I basically got _son-ed_ by a wannabe hobo. Damn. I prefer feeling intellectually superior to most, call it a character flaw if you will.

I blinked at him in response. The smart alec decided to continue on, I guess.

"Yeah, big man YG only cares about little ole iKON when he's working us to the bone promoting in Japan." He laughed, but this time it sounded like a tinge of bitterness. Touché. "We should be called iJON at this point."

"Oh," I replied lamely, not really knowing what to say or how to respond. Rosé softly nudged me with her elbow, barely holding back her snort of amusement. I looked at her and not-so-discreetly shrug. Rosé rolled her eyes in disbelief. What? It's not like I wanted to have a conversation with Mr. Hobo here. He's the one who initiated it!

I gave him a once over as he shamelessly stared at us, looking bored out his mind. My gaze lingered on the... _Thing_ on his head. Hesitantly I poked at one of the dread-like things on his head. He raised his eyebrows with a laugh, probably amused by my look of mild disgust.

"You don't like it?" He asked rhetorically. At least I hoped so--- obviously I didn't like the dog shit on his head. I shook my head no in reply, sharply pulling one of the dreads, making him yelp loudly. Rosé elbowed me again. _Why does she keep doing that?_

"Why not?" He asked, rubbing his scalp.

"Azealia Banks doesn't like it," I said vaguely.

"Ah," he made a noise of enlightenment. "I've seen her name in your notebook. Who is _she_ anyway?"

I gave him a surprised look. It was 2014. Everybody knew who Azealia Banks was (but not how to spell it though). The least thing I expected from Bobby as an artist in a specific genre of music that completely deprives from black culture was to know who Banks was. Plus she made the 212 song.

"You don't know the lady who made the 212 song?" Rosé gasped. " _Whatchu gon do when I appear, when I appear, the end of ya life is near, this shit been mine mine_!" Rosé sung lightly in English, her accent poking out, but Bobby just stared blankly. She gasped again. Jesus Christ, a fly would land in her throat if she kept playing around.

"Stop cursing," Bobby lazily lectured. "You guys are like, five."

Rosé gasped again, this time scornfully. I hope she wouldn't make this a habit, she has asthma.

"I'm 14!"

"Me too," I agreed.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Fetuses."

"Shut up, old man!" Rosé teased. "You don't even know who Azealia Banks is!"

"What is a 212 anyway?" He deflected, pulling out his phone.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "The area code for like, Brooklyn or something." I rolled my eyes with a scoff.

"We're going to watch this interview!" Bobby announced. I looked at his phone then sniggered. I knew he wouldn't like it, judging by the dreads in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, see you next Sunday <3 leave a comment if you please :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for giving this story a try! Please drop a comment telling me how you feel. Expect updates on Sundays, along with eggs & sagwa :*


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